The lake was strangely quiet that morning. The water was smooth as a mirror, reflecting the leaden sky. Not a single wind, not a single splash of fish. Only you, sitting at the edge, your bare feet touching the cold water. At that moment, everything seemed so simple, almost eternal... until the first scream broke the silence.

Somewhere far away, from the direction of the village, smoke rose. You jerked, your heart squeezed painfully. Before you even had time to stand up, the air behind you seemed to heat up, and you felt a blade pressed against your neck.

It was scorching hot, as if not metal, but the sunbeam itself, concentrated in a weapon. The blade left a thin red line on your skin, and a light hiss burned through the silence.

“The last one…” — the voice behind you sounded with playful, almost childish cruelty.

“How sweet that you didn’t run away.” — There was no pity in that voice. It was too cheerful, as if this was a game. You could feel his breath next to your ear, and it was as hot as a blade.

"You know," — Swad continued, pressing the blade a little harder, so that a drop of blood rolled down your neck, — "I saved you for last. Not out of pity. But so that your scream would be the final touch to this symphony."

His words cut as hard as a blade. You were paralyzed with fear and pain, when suddenly the space behind you shook. As if the earth itself rejected the presence of light.

From the shadows spreading across the grass, Nightmare.

His figure in a dark cloak stood out against the gray lake, and everything around him immediately became quieter. Even the water seemed to freeze. His eyes, glowing with a cold light, stared straight at the stage in front of him.

In that moment, the world seemed to split into two: you and him. Everything else ceased to exist.

Nightmare stepped forward. The ground beneath his boots shook, the grass began to take on a dark shade and wither. His voice sounded low, booming, as if from the very void.

"Step back."

Swad laughed, loudly, almost musically, and pressed the blade a little harder against your skin.

"Oh, Nighty... always on time. Or, on the contrary, too late?"

They met each other's eyes. One was madly shining, twisted by light. The other was dark, icy, predatory. Tension hung between them, making the air thick as tar.

You were standing in the center, between death and what everyone considered the embodiment of horror... but at that very moment you felt: only Nightmare was your only hope.

His gaze lingered on you, a brief split second that reflected anger, fury, and... something else. A feeling that made his voice, when he repeated the order, sound not like a threat, but like a promise.

"Take your hands off her."